THE GREY FEET 

OF THE WIND :•: 

CATHALOBYRNE 







PRESENTCD liV 



iSiJA 



THE 
GREY FEET OF THE WIND 



The 
Grey Feet of the Wind 



Poems by 



GATHAL O' BYRNE 



New York 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 

Publisher^ 



^v^: 



■^ 



Printed by 

The Educational Company of Ireland 

at 

The Talbot Press, 

89 Talbot St., Dublin 



em 

Ukf 27 1918 



CONTSNTS 

PAGE 

Foreword vii. 

The Grey Feet of the Wind 1 

The Fairy Well of Slemish 3 

The Man who went the Roads 6 

A Silent Mouth 8 

How Diarmuid got his Love-spot 10 

The Mother o' Shaun 13 

Away from Ireland 15 

Grainne. After the Death of Diarmuid 18 
When Seumas Mac-an-Ree played "The Coulin" 22 

The Boy's Mother Speaks 24 

Tara of the Kings 25 

The White Road to Ireland 30 
Lament of a Fishergirl for her Drowned Lover 32 

The Wanderer 34 

My Share o' the World 35 

The Drowned Fisherman 37 

White Rose of the World 39 

To Eire of the Sorrows 42 

A Donegal Hush Song 43 

O, Friend of my Heart 45 

When I shall come to You 46 

In Ireland (To D.R.T.) 49 

The Other Life 51 

Spring 55 

A Dream 56 

The Joy of Giving 58 

^he Song o' th' Say 59 



VI. CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Thanksgiving 61 

Emer at the Grave of Cuchulain 62 

Spring in the City 64 

Eire's Awakening 66 

The Quicken berried of Dooros 68 

The Primal Silence 70 

Daffodils 73 

Asthoreen 74 

The Woe of all the World 77 

Notes 79 



FOREWORD. 

The Grey Feet of the Wind sweep o'er 

the bending grasses, 
Down the bright meadows in the breezy 

noon, 
Leaving behind them where each light foot 

passes 
The track of their Silver Shoon. 

So through the dim-lit aisles of Memory's 

Garden 
The Grey Winds go dream laden, crooning 

some old, dear tune. 
To where the Seneschal, My Heart, a 

Haffy Warden 
Keeps each Remembered Rune. 



A few of the poems in this volume are re- 
printed from The Lane of the Thrushes. 
The others have appeared in the following 
papers and magazines, and through the 
courtesy of the Editors and Proprietors are 
republished here: "The Messenger" (New 
York), "America" (New York), "The Gaelic 
American" (New York), "The New York Even- 
ing Times," "The Sunday Times" (New York), 
"Ave Maria" (Notre Dame, Indiana), "The 
New World" (Chicago), " The Southern Cross" 
(Buenos Ayres), and "The Westminster 
Budget" (London). 

For musical rights apply through the 
Publishers. 



THE GEEY FEET OF THE WIND. 

I FOLLOWED in the track of the Grey Feet 

of The Wind, 
Where Black Clouds ran across the Moon^ 

adown a Sullen Sky- 
Like a Herd of Frightened Cattle with 

Harrying Wolves behind 
And dark pines stretched gaunt arms to 

me as I went shuddering by. 

Past many a Grey Cairn Stone I went — 

the mad wind whistling on — 
With the Dead Dust of Years clogging my 

eyes and breath, 
Till White Spears flashed in the East, and 

the Red Wind of Dawn 
Fanned into flame the Passion Fires, the 

Fires of Life and Death. 
1 

(D 338) B- 



:2 THE GREY FEET OF THE WIND 

On where Night's dream fires are quencht, 

and Dawn's wide gates unclose, 
Through cool white mists of Morning, out 

from the World away. 
To where the Sapphire turns to Flame, the 

Ruby burns in the Rose, 
And the Silver Bars that are tipped with, 

Stars melt in the Heart of Day. 

I followed in the track of the Grey Feet 

of The Wind, 
-O, Dew- wet Wind of Morning, what word 

have ye to say ? 
0, Life is bitter, and Love is sweet, and 

only Death is kind, 
For Life is Hope, and Love is Life, and 

Life is Death alway. 



THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH. 

'TwAS the grey of the evening when Shaun 
came over 
The mountain's shoulder by Tor loch's 
Tower, 
Like clustered pearls lay the dew on the 
clover, 
One pale star burned thro' that dew- 
grey hour. 

He came to the Fairy Well of Slemish, 

In the cool, green moss like a gem it lay ; 
And he thought of the girl without blame 
or blemish, 
The dark, proud girl who had said him 
"Nay." 

3 



4 THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH 

He stooped to drink of the sweet well- 
water ; 
To the moss grown stones he bent a knee. 
" Oh, sweet as the kiss of a High King's 
Daughter, 
Is the Well of Forgetfulness," said he. 

' ' Oh, sweeter far than the sweet well water 
Are the lips of Love," said a voice, and 
he 
Looked up and beheld the High King's 
Daughter, 
Of Tir-na-noge in the Realms of Shee. 

"Drink three deep draughts," said the 
High King's Daughter, 
"And the wish of your heart I can give," 
said she, 
" Oh I have drunk deep of the sweet well- 
water, 
And the wish of my heart is yourself," 
said he. 



THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH 5 

He kissed her lips, as the poppies scarlet, 
He made her heart on his heart to lie, 

While a rain of tears that one gold star 
let 
Fall thro' the dusk down the opal sky. 

Then away with them over the purple 
heather, 
By dark fir-wood and by starlit brae; 
Their silvery laughter ringing together 
And nor sight nor sign of them since 
that day. 



THE MAN WHO WENT THE 
EOADS. 

I DANCED on a day in Connacht 

By the cross in a market square, 
And the young girls came to the doorways, 

A piper was playing there. 
And an old man praised my dancing, 

Said it was just to his mind, 
Oh ! 'twas good to be dancing in Connacht 

Out in the sun and the wind. 

I told a story in Leinster 

To a man at a wayside gate, 
Of Da Derga and Emain Macha, 

And Tara's sorrowful fate. 
But the man looked out o'er his pastures, 

His face never lost its gloom, 
Ochon ! but Leinster is lonely 

And cold as an empty room. 
6 



THE MAN WHO WENT THE ROADS / 

I made a poem in Muiister 

When the dreams in my head ran wild, 
'Twas where a turf fire smouldered 

And a woman sang to her child 
At the end of an Autumn evening 

After the bit and the sup. 
My hand ! 'Tis a Munster welcome 

For lifting a lad's heart up. 

I sang a song in Ulster 

In the narrow streets of a town, 
And the people passed sullen and silent — 

Some looked at me with a frown. 
But a young man praised my singing, 

Said it was grand and the like, 
And put his arm round my shoulder — 

'Twas a song of a gun and a yike. 



A SILENT MOUTH. 

O LITTLE green leaf on the bough, you hear 

the lark in the morn, 
You hear the grey feet of the wind stir in 

the shimmering corn. 
You hear low down in the grass 
The singing Shee as they pass; 
Do you ever hear, little green flame ! 
My loved one calling, calling, whispering 

my name? 

little green leaf on the bough like my 

lips you must ever be dumb, 
For a maiden must never speak till Love 

to her heart says " Come!" 
A mouth in its silence is sweet. 
But my heart cries loud when we meet, 
And I turn my head with a bitter sigh. 
When the boy who has stolen my love, 
unheeding goes by. 
S 



A SILENT MOUTH 9 

I have made my heart as the stones in the 

street for his tread, 
I have made my love as the shadow that 

falls from his dear gold head. 
But the stones with his footsteps ring, 
And the shadow keeps following, 
And just as the quiet shadow goes ever 

beside or before 
So must I go silent and lonely and loveless 

for ever and evermore. 



HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE- 
SPOT. 

CoNAN and Osgar and Diarmuid slept 
Sweetly and soundly without dream or 

fret, 
Until a great light gleamed in the chamber^ 
As if a torch to the roof were set. 

And they wakened wide-eyed, and wotider- 

ing, saw, 
Like a yellow star through the purple 

gloom, 
In her young youth's beauty, without robe 

or raiment, 
A maiden standing within the room. 

And the flame of her loveliness glowed and 

shone. 
And her shadow lay o'er the rush-strewn 

space, 

10 



HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT 11 

Like a shining candle, where no light was 

burning, 
Her hair's bright radiance filled the place. 

For a while she stood by the bed-post tall, 
Nor eye that had seen could ever forget, 
Then like a pink shell on a foam-crest 

tossing. 
She slipped 'neath the light, white coverlet. 

Then Conan stood out on the rush-strewn 

floor. 
And his heart was glad with love's sweet 

pain, 
" Go back to your bed," said the maiden 

gently, 
" I belonged to you once, but can never 

again." 

Then Osgar stood out on the rush-strewn 

floor, 
" And where are you going?" the maiden 

said. 



12 HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT 

" I've a mind to go where my heart is 

going" : 
" I belonged to you once, but that day is 
dead." 

Then Diarmuid stood out on the rush- 
strewn floor, 

' ' And where are you going ? 0, Man of 
Truth ! 

I may not be yours for the having or taking, 

I belonged to you once, my name is Youth. 

' ' But come and kneel by the bed-post here, 
And I'll put a love-spot upon your face; 
That, seeing once, no woman forever 
Shall love withhold for a moment's space." 

Then she put her hand 'tween his level 

brows. 
And she sighed as she placed the mark 

above. 
Maybe she dreamed of his great undoing 
By the gift unsought, of a woman's love. 



THE MOTHER O' SHAUN. 

Shaun stood six feet or so, with his head 

up near the rafter, 
He be to stoop when he came in the door, 
Shuttin' out the sunshine, but his cheery 

hearty laughter 
Brought more brightness than the streak 

o' light that lay along the floor. 
And ye'd think it was a hive o' honey 

bees among the heather. 
Or ye'd think it was a ring o' bells 

through sunny summer air, 
An' ye'd maybe think 'twas bees an' bells 

amoiderin' together. 
But it be to be his heart that made the 

music everywhere. 
13 



14 THE MOTHER O' SHAUN 

An' I wish I'd see him standin' in the 

shadow there above me, 
And see his white teeth gleam, his blue 

eyes glow, 
Though the other boys are near to me to 

cheer me an' to love me. 
Shaun had the hearty ways with him 

they'll never, never know. 
But the big worl' called him always, its 

wonder called him loudly, 
So he bent his head with his loving kiss 

beneath the lintel low. 
An' I prayed ' ' God guard him always " 

an' I prayed ' ' God bless him " 

proudly, 
I'm his mother, ye'll be mindin', an' I 

knew he be to go. 



AWAY FROM IRELAND. 

Though I'm far and very far away from 

Ireland, 
There's a knot of purple thistles on a cliff 

above the sea, 
Like a silver censer flaming betv^een the 

sky and me, 
The blood-red bells of fuchsias swing 

around a cabin door. 
Where the yellow sunlight showers down 

to flood the earthen floor, 
Far away, and very far away in Ireland. 

Though I'm far and very far away from 

Ireland, 
There's a grey rock 'mid the heather where 

the bees hum all the day, 
Adown its mossy shoulder trails a crimson 

briar spray, 

15 



16 AWAY FROM IRELAND 

Like a craobh of ancient Ogham locked 
beneath Time's magic key, 

But the beauty of its message is as clear 
as dawn to me, 
Far away, and very far away in Ireland. 

Though I'm far and very far away from 

Ireland, 
There's a turf cart standing idle in a quiet 

village street, 
The hens roosting on its axle in the shadow 

from the heat. 
There's a barefoot boy beside it looking out 

towards the sea. 
And the birds have far more trouble for 

the morrow's morn than he, . 
Far away, and very far away in Ireland. 

Though I'm far and very far away from 

Ireland, 
If the black hand of misfortune had 

gripped my heavy heart. 



AWAY FROM IRELAND IT 

If the red blisters of disgrace had made 
my pale cheek smart, 

I'd little heed the trouble or the blame that 
lay on me, 

If climbing on a white road between golden- 
whins I'd be 
Far away, and very far away in Ireland.. 



(D 338) 



GRAINNE. 
AFTER THE DEATH OF DIAEMUID. 

Forth from the twilight of a wood she 

came, 
Where blossoming isles of purple hare-bells 

gleamed, 
Set in a shimmering, sunflecked sea of 

green. 
Fair was her face as the deep rose of the 

dawn, 
And lithe her form as the lake grasses tall, 
That whispered of her beauty to the breeze. 
Tear-stained her cheeks — rock roses washed 

with spray, 
Great haunting memories dwelt of happier 

days 
Deep in the shadowy depths of her sad eyes, 
Her hair flowed down, a gleaming golden 

wave, 

18 



GRAINNE 19 

O'er snowy fold and fold of her white robe, 
Like sun-kissed water on a silver strand, 
Its ripples streaming on a soft west wind, 
Were mirrored in the wide, weed-laden 

lake 
Where she passed by. The silent, sleepy 

birds. 
Thinking the sun had backward from the 

West 
Turned in his course, and with his shafts 

of gold 
Had stabbed the heart of the dim, silent 

pool. 
Burst into music, and a shower of song. 
Fell through the leaves to greet this new 

day star. 
Twin dew-wet quickenberries were her lips, 

one word, 
Came through their rosy portals, " Diar- 

muid," 
It rang adown the dusky, flower-strewn 

glades, 



20 GRAINNE 

Through aisles of forest trees, of mighty 

oaks, 
Of quivering aspen, and of silver larch, 
And stately giant pines, and hazel groves; 
The melody of murmuring v^aters caught 

the sound. 
And chaunted " Diarmuid" to the mossy 

stones. 
Down to the depths of the calm v^^oods it 

sank, 
And up through arching green to the broad 

sky, 

Through traceries of bronze and blue above, 
And far beneath of glimmering gold and 

green, 
The Nightingale caught up the new, sweet 

sound. 
And for an instant held it in her throat, 
Then flung it on the silence of her bower, 
Where as it fell it burst in silver rain. 
And scattered to the winds its sparks of 

song. 



GRAINNE 21 

The myriad songsters caught the glittering 

drops, 
And flying with the gems throughout the 

wood, 
Sang " Diarmuid" in silver syllables, till 

the notes, 
Forming one grand, sweet chord, went 

echoing 
Through the vast aisles and gold-green 

garden ways. 
And all the wood rang sweet with 

"Diarmuid," 
Until the hills in pity sent the name 
Back to the forest's fringe whereat she 

stood. 
And it at length found its true resting- 
place 
Deep in the inmost core of her lone heart. 



WHEN SEUMAS MAC-AN-REE 
PLAYED "THE COULIN." 

A SECRET heavy sighing stirred the naked 
trees 
That leaned to listen there in Cushendall, 
Sharp and grief-laden was the wet sea- 
breeze 
Like slender arrows whistling in their 
fall. 
And as about the strings the bow was 
curled 
Love sobbed its woe out in a dirge of pain, 
A woe that held the weight of all the world 
Of love that had been spilt in golden rain. 

And in it was the cry of every Gael 
That ever yearned, the sund'ring sea 
between. 
With outstretched arms to raise the misty 
veil 
That hung between him and " Dark 
Eosaleen" 

22 



WHEN SEUMAS PLAYED THE COULIN 

The singing waters mingled with the 
strain, 
Tumbling afar down steep Lurgaidan's 
side, 
And soft as southwinds through the 
ripened grain 
Low through Glenariff's glens a Banshee 
cried. 

" 'Tis the last glimpse of Erin" sigh the 
strings. 
The foam-fringed wave turns back to kiss 
the shore, 
A swift, unbidden teardrop smarts and 
stings, 
A silence long and deep, the song is o'er. 
'Twas Ireland's sad fate was in the 
, wailing — 

A chain of melody that holds her soul — 
A song, a tear, and exile ships a-sailing — 
A wan face, patient-eyed, seeking the 
promised goal. 



THE BOY'S MOTHER SPEAKS. 

If the Three Blisters of Disgrace were on 
his face, 
And his face is like the sun, 
I would efface each trace from its place 

"With my kisses, one by one ! 
If his head were bowed with dread and woe 
and shame, 
And his head is like dull gold, 
I'd forget the guilt and shame, and bear his 
share of blame. 
For to love is to forgive when all is told. 



24 



TARA OF THE KINGS. 

In the great Hall of Tara of the Kings, 
Whose fourteen doors stood ever open wide, 
With fourteen welcomes to the night and 

day, 
The feast was set. White torches flared 

around 
From niches in the pillars of red pine, 
On Gallant Chiefs and Queenly Women 

there. 
The warm light glanced and shone on the 

red gold 
Of the rich battle gear of Erinn's Men, 
And on the gleaming mail, and wolf skin 

cloaks 
Of the sea-roving Giants of the Loch- 

lanachs. 
Strong-limbed and fierce were they, with 

eyes that held 
25 



26 TARA OF THE KINGS 

The cold, blue sheen of star-lit northern 

deeps, 
And teeth that gleamed through flowing, 

tawny beards. 
The tables groaned beneath the mighty 

weight 
Of ponderous vats of rare and precious 

wines, 
And carcases of oxen roasted whole, 
Methers of foaming mead went gaily round 
From lip to lip, and friend and foe alike 
Ate, drank, and quaffed their brimming, 

golden cups. 
Forgetting for the moment every wrong 
That ever held them sundered. Such the 

law — 
No man might draw his sword in Tara's 

Hall, 
In anger on another man, and live. 
Then, when the feast was ended, and the 

Bards 



TARA OF THE KINGS 27 

And Ollavs skilled in Erinn's ancient lore 
Stood in a white-robed throng around the 

Throne 
Then was it that a silence deep as death 
Fell on that mighty crowd. Outside the 

wind 
Stirred in the quicken trees, and to and fro 
As if by fairy hands, the banners waved. 
And from the farther end of the great Hall 
A silver rivulet of music flowed 
Into the gloom and silence of the place. 
Faintly at first and sweetly, like the song 
Of sunbright waters, rang the Harp's clear 

sound ; 
Louder and louder yet the music swelled, 
As Bard and Bard, and Bard took up the 

strain, 
And all the burthen of their thrilling song 
Was — Tara and the glory of its Kings. 
Of Fiann and his Matchless Men they sang, 
Of the red rout of battle, and great deeds 
Of skill and daring on the tented field. 



28 TARA OF THE KINGS 

And then the music took a softer sound — 
'Twas Deirdre's sad tale the Minstrels told, 
And the dread fate of Usnach's hapless 

sons, 
A dirge of sorrow, wailful and desolate — 
The saddest tale the world had ever 

heard, — 
The women listened with bright, dew-wet 

eyes, 
And stern-brow'd warriors stood grim and 

mute 
Instinctively each hand went to its spear, 
And a low, sorrowful murmur like a caoine 
Thrilled through that mighty crowd. 
Still the Harps sobbed, and still the Bards 

sang on, 
Until with one, grand, maddening crash 

they tore 
A mighty chord from out the quivering 

strings. 
And the sad tale was told. Adown the 

Hall 



TARA OF THE KINGS 2^ 

The murmur grew to a tumultuous sound; 
The music's fire had quickened hearts and 

brains, 
Shield clanged in meeting shield, and 

through the gloom 
The torches, in a myriad points of light, 
Flashed on bright skians and forests of 

grey spears. 
Until the swelling chorus thundered forth. 
In one, great, sonorous, deep -throated roar 
Of wild applause, its mighty meed of praise 
That echoed through the dome of the great 

Hall, 
And floated through its fourteen open 

doors. 
Out and away into the silent night. 
Startling the Red Deer from his ferny lair, 
In the green woods round Tara of the 

Kings. 



THE WHITE ROAD TO IRELAND. 

OcH, the weary 's on you, London, 

With your hot streets all ablaze, 
In a rain o' yellow sunshine. 

And the drought o' summer days, 
Sure I mind me well a white road 

That goes westward to the sea, 
And the white road to Ireland 

Is the right road for me. 

I'm not mindin' o' the money, 

Here it falls, they say, like rain, 
Eut w^ho'd be thinkin' o' the likes 

That longed for home again? 
So tie up your kerchief, Maurya, 

And we'll foot it to the sea, 
Eor the white road to Ireland 

Is the right road for me. 
30 



THE WHITE ROAD TO IRELAND 31 

There's a brown road in Ireland, 

An' my grief, 'tis steep an' bare, 
But through the misty sunshine 

'Tis we'll be climbin' there. 
Do you hear the curlew callin' 

As he points out to the sea ? 
Ah, the brown road in Ireland 

Is the road for you and me. 



LAMENT OF A FISHERGIEL FOR 
HER DROWNED LOVER. 

There's a grey cloud hanging o'er Rath 

Cruachan, 
Where the grey rocks are grinning through 

the heather, 
And there is no sunlight on the hill-road& 
Where we two climbed yesterday together. 

The hill- winds are moaning like the ocean, 
The flame of the gorse has burned low 

down, 
But there are three tall white candles 

burning 
Where you lie dead and cold in Galway 

town. 

32 



LAMENT OF A FISHERGIRL 3^ 

There's a dark cloud o'er Connacht of the 

grey stones, 
Through a wet mist the boats put out to sea,, 
And there is no dancing now nor laughter,. 
There's a grey stone where my heart used 

to be. 

The lark is silent now above the heather,, 
There is silence on the mouth my mouth has 

kissed, 
And the yellow light falls where you are 

lying, 
But the grey cloud is round me like a mist. 



(D338) 



THE WANDERER. 

Slanting rain and white mist falling 
Over the lonely moorland track, 

Through purple shadows a grey bird 
calling — 
Ever calling the Wanderer back. 

Slanting rain and west wind sighing, 
Out of the hills with an eerie throb, 

Lone, grey raths and a Banshee crying, 
Caoining softly with many a sob. 

Slanting rain and a wide grey ocean, 
Where the gaunt ship waits like a 
spectral bier, 
Shadowy waters in ceaseless motion, 
And grief for a Heart-friend through 
many a year. 



34 



MY SHARE 0' THE WORLD. 

My Share o' the World, 

With your brown-head curled — 

Close to my fond heart so cosily, 
To the island of dreams, 
'Neath the pale moonbeams, 

You've flown on the wings of the Sluah 
Shee. 

On the yellow strand 

Of that bright dreamland, 

Where day dies never, you'll wander free 
Till your boat of pearl — 
Like a silver curl 

On the green-streamed sea, bears you 
back to me. 

35 



36 MY SHARE O' THE WORLD 

Then safe on my bosom, 
Oh, pink- white blossom ! 
You'll rest till the night's dark wings are 
furled, 
When the dawn of your sleeping — 
A blue eye peeping. 

Shall greet me, a leanniv. My Share o' 
the World. 



THE DROWNED FISHERMAN. 

Because of your love, 0, Padraic A- 

Hartigan ! 
'Tis like some God-forgotten star I am this 

many a day, 
Though the life is left within my breast, 

'tis my heart that is far away, 
For your bed is the ocean's bed — a wraith 

on a sullen sea, — 
And the white bird's call in the darkness 

brings your cry, your cry to me. 

My sorrow and my sorrow, 0, Padraic A- 

Hartigan ! 
My seven curses upon the ocean, and my 

curse on its many ills. 
For 'tis I that loved the mountains, God's 
own grey, kindly hills, 
37 



88 THE DROWNED FISHERMAN 

But the sea kept a-calling, a-calling you, 
— 'twas the woe o' the Banshee's cry, 

And I see in my dreams the storm-tossed 
boat and a wan face drifting by. 

Youth o' my heart, 0, Padraic A -Hartigan ! 
The day is dreary, the night is long when 

the bay with mist is hid. 
And the clank o' oars in the gloaming 

sounds like clay on a coflfin lid; 
By the swell o' ground seas 'cross the bar, 

through the years shall your caoine 

be cried. 
And never till storm and waves are stilled 

shall the tears in my eyes be dried. 
Youth, o' my sorrow, 0, Padraic A- 
Hartigan ! 



WHITE EOSE OF THE WORLD. 

// thou liwrt mine, 

I'd weave three robes of cloud and 

glistening dew 
Warp of white mist and woof of sunset 

hue, 
With apple blossoms, faintly red, and 

musk, 
I'd strew the ways that lead into the dusk 
Of deep, cool woods, where dewy fern 

frond curls, 
Would scatter 'neath thy feet a shower 

of pearls. 
And steel the moonlight's sheen from the 

dim lake, 
To pave a silver path for thy dear sake. 
39 



40 WHITE ROSE OF THE WORLD 

If thou wert mine, 

I'd captive make the voice of every bird, 
And wed to each the sweetest, fondest 

word — 
Thy name, — that when they sang their 

song should be, 
Linked with a chain of melodies to thee, 
I'd pluck from out the day its brightest 

hours, 
Wreath them — a diadem of fairest 

flowers. 
When night should come with sable wings 

unfurled — 
To crown thy brow, 0, White Eose of the 

World. 

Jf thou ivert mine, 

I'd seize the wind (0, throbbing wind of 

sorrow. 
Vex not her soul with whisperings of the 

morrow) 
I'd garner up the radiance of the morn, 



WHITE ROSE OF THE WORLD 41 

The wonder-music of the rustling corn, 
To fashion fairyland — the world apart — 
And when 'twould fade, I'd house thee in 

my heart. 
No impious hand this shrine of thine 

could shatter 
O, face divine, 0, voice as singing water — 

// thou wert mine. 



TO EIRE OF THE SORROWS. 

Dearest, when all is done and all is said, 
When from Thy head the Crown of Thorns 

is flung, 
I shall be happier looking on that Crown 
To think that not one word of all I sung 
Or said, had helped to press it down 
Or bowed in deeper woe Thy Dear Dark 

Head. 



42 



A DONEGAL HUSH SONG. 

God bring you safe from the death sleep 
of night, 

A Leanniv Machree, 

My Heart's Delight, 
From the green-hill'd homes of the Sluah 

Shee, 
O'er the purple rim of a star-lit sea. 
Through a leafy lane, o'er Moy Mell's plain, 
Where dew-drops strung on a gossamer 

chain, 
From blossomy boughs, swing to and fro. 
And a round, red moon hangs low, so low — 
God bring you safe through the Night to me. 

My Heart's Delight, 

A Leanniv Machree, 



43 



44 A DONEGAL HUSH SONG 

God bring you safe from the death sleep of 
night, 

A Leanniv Machree, 
My Heart's Delight, 
From the grey world's edge where the rose- 
dawn sleeps, 
Through the white, dream gates where the 

shy day peeps. 
Down the silver track of the Morning Star, 
To the yellow strand where the white cliffs 

are, 
Where each fairy foot in a fairy brogue 
Is hastening away to Tir-na-noge, 
God bring you safe to the Dawn and me 
My Heart's Delight, 
A Leanniv Machree. 



O, PRIEND OF MY HEART. 

0, FRIEND of my Heart : 
Like the swish of the wind in the rustling 

grass, like the rhythm of a star, 
Like a singing stream to a thirsty soul in 

a desert place lonely and far. 
Like the deep-throated music of thrushes 

in the windless quiet of days 
Is the breath of your praise. 

0, Friend of my Heart ! 
'Tis a debt I pay in this telling for hours 

of delight, 
To lay my wreath of bays at your feet I 

would climb afar to your height, 
I would talk the flints with a terrible joy, 

if at the journey's end, 
I would greet you, Friend! 



45 



WHEN I SHALL COME TO YOU. 

I SHALL come to you, dear, 
In the green o' the year, 
With the breeze on the lake, 
With the bird in the brake. 
When the hedges are gay 
With the white o' the May; 
I shall come to you bringing 
The glad summer's singing 
With the lark's silver trills. 
With the light on the hills. 
And the blue in the valleys. 
When through shadow^y alleys 
Of shimmering larches 
And sweet woodbine arches, 
We shall walk as of yore 
O'er the emerald floor 
46 



WHEN I SHALL COME TO YOU 47 

Of the dim woods, inlaid 
With the jasper and jade 
Of the green light that falls 
Through the aisles, o'er the walls 
Of the dark leafy fane. 
Weaving shadow and light 
Weaving day into night 
With warp of gold glances 
And woof of green lances, 
With the pearl of pale moons 
To the rune of old tunes. 
With bronze of dark stems, 
With the fringe-bordered hems 
Of the pine groves that trail 
Their green robes down the vale 
Through briar, brake and fen 
I shall come, dear, again, 
When the hedges are gay 
With the white o' the May, 
I shall come to you bringing 
The glad summer's singing, 



48 WHEN I SHALL COME TO YOU 

With the gold iris bending 

'Tween the stream's song ascending; 

To the song of the breeze 

In the low-drooping trees 

When the wood-doves are gay 

And our hearts glad as they, 

In the green o' the year 

I shall come to you, dear. 



^ 



IN IRELAND. 

(to d. r. t.) 

What is it you miss, friend of my heart,. 

there by that arid strand, 
Where Nilus drags its sun-swept way,, 

'tween level banks of sand? 
Is it the shadow of clouds of mist that 

shimmer and shine as they pass, 
Is it the swish of the slanting rain in the 

long lush wayside grass — 
In Ireland? 

Do you miss 'mid the brazen sunshine, and 

the glorious afterglow. 
The deep blue of our valleys, the light that 

our dear hills know ? 
Do you miss 'mid the clamour and bustle 

of the city's echoing ways. 
The hush of a loch where the dragon fiieS' 

dart through the soft summer haze — - 
In Ireland? 
49 

(D 338) "B, 



50 IN IRELAND 

Do you miss the long, low wash of the waves 

and the silence that follows after, 
Do you miss the startled sea-bird's note, the 

blackbird's chatter and laughter. 
And, oh, do you miss the kindly hearts of 

the friends that you love so dear, 
Who with straining eyes and eager arms 

are waiting to welcome you here — 
In Ireland? 



THE OTHER LIFE. 

" The little stone of truth rolling through the 
many ages of the world has gathered and grown 
grey with the thick mosses of romance and super- 
stition. But tradition must always have the little 
stone of truth for its kernel, and perhaps he who 
rejects all is likelier to be wrong than even foolish 
folk like myself, who love to believe all, and who 
tread the new paths, thinking ever of the ancient 
stories." 

'Tis but a vain, unreal thing, and yet, and 

yet 
Is it that I remember dimly, or but half 

forget 
That other Life that comes in dreams to 

me 
Over the Hills of Silence from an unknown 

sea? 
It seems of old I've wandered through a 

land 

51 



52 THE OTHER LIFE 

Whose gates of pearl ope on a golden 

strand, 
And the far spreading boughs of blossomed 

trees 
Cover the sward with shimmering traceries ; 
Where feathery grasses fringe dark pools 

— a dream — 
Across whose placid bosoms white wings 

gleam, 
And days drift by as dreams across the 

night — 
Swift days that end in long nights of 

delight. 
In days long dead I've roamed, and by my 

side 
Was Emer of the Faithful Heart — 

Cuchulain's bride, 
No longer mourning for her valiant Hound, 
For close about his neck her arms were 

wound, 
And Meave of Cruachan, dark-browed, 

mighty queen, 
Her crimson mantle trailing o'er the green, 



THE OTHER LIFE 53 

Passed onward with a gracious, shadowy 

smile, 
And a Brown Bull lowed deep in a wood- 
land aisle, 
Beneath the quicken trees where Grainne 

laid, 
Her lips to Diarmuid's, and with that kiss 

betrayed 
Her lover and her lord; I walked with 

Niav, 
Ere yet she drew sad Oissin o'er the wave — 
Niav of the golden head and witching 

words. 
Whose voice had caught the tones of 

Angus' birds. 
In that old life when love itself was life, 
I've lived and loved and gloried in its 

strife. 
Perchance I do but dream, and at the ford, 
Never fell Ferdiad by his heart-friend's 

sword : 



54 THE OTHER LIFE 

Perchance I do but dream, and Deirdre 

never 
Of all sad songs sang yet the saddest ever ; 
Perchance I do but dream — and yet, — and 

yet, 

Is it that I remember dimly, or but half 
forget ? 



SPRING. 

A SLENDER blade of grass beside a stone^ 
A gleam of sunshine 'tween the narrow 

roofs, 
A solitary seed of grass wind sown 
Beneath the trampling of impatient hoofs. 
The happy children in the windy street 
Play Ring o' Roses, gambol, laugh and 

sing. 
Across the blue a flash of wings — tweet 1. 

tweet! 
And so 'tis Spring. 



09 



A DREAM. 

It was fanned of unseen fires, 
The fires that chasten and smart. 

'Of my seared soul's white flame, 
And the red flame of my heart. 

Of the fierce white heat of Youth, 
And the glow of its passion fire 

Youth, the Dreamer, who fashions 
And colours the Heart's Desire. 

With dead dreams half forgot 

The living ore was wrought 
Till it shaped itself in my heart. 

Took form and came forth — a Thought. 

It burned as a star in the dark 

In its travail hour of birth, 
As a diamond deep in the womb 

Of the fruitful red-brown earth. 
56 



A DREAM 57 

Like a rhythm of joyous sound, 
Like a gleam of tremulous light, 

It fell on men's wond'ring ears, 
It glowed and sang in their sight. 

They pondered it o'er and o'er. 
They sundered it part from part, 

The song that was half my soul. 
The word that was all my heart. 

*VHe has lost the Clue," they said — 
" The Clue and the Golden Key." 

But it — it was all my life 

For it came from the Soul o' Me. 



THE JOY OF GIVING. 

Give of the gold whereof your heart is 
made 
To those poor bankrupt ones who have 
no store 
Of love or joy or hope, whose sorry trade 
Is digging in the dust-heaps for the 
phantom ore. 

Give your tears' balm to every lonely soul 

Who yearns for a dead day, a little while 

When Death shall add a name to the long 

roll 

You can then answer with a tearless 

smile. 

Give loving faith and truth and sympathy 

To those who in the furnace have been 

tried, 

And you shall walk in beauty and shall see 

Life, Love and Death by gladness- 

glorified. 

58 



THE SONG O' TH' SAY. 

Night an' morn it's on me, this weary in' 

for th' say 
An' th' swish o' breakers an' th' clank o' 

oars in Inver Bay; 
'Tis a sin to be grievin', they tell me, but, 

sure, 'twas God above, 
That put in my heart th' song that j&lls it 

with longin' an' love. 

Many's th' year since I left it, th' home so 

purty, so poor, 
An' took th' windin' casaun that led to th' 

worl' across th' moor, 
But first I went down th' beach to kiss th' 

ledge by th' shore. 
Ah, God ! I can feel th' salt on my lips th' 

day an' evermore. 
59 



60 THE SONG O' TH' SAY 

A 'kerchief o' spotted red held all my store, 

an' a shell, 
An' a song o' th' say within it, th' music I 

loved so well; 
Now when th' childre are weary I take 

them up on my breast, 
An' th' song that th' shell keeps singin' 

soothes each weeshy head to rest. 

'Tis many's th' year, an' I'm thinkin' will 

th' longing ever be stilled, 
For I'm here in th' lonely city yet, an' my 

dream is unfulfilled. 
But though 'tis years since it sang to me, 

my heart knows that some day, 
When life is over, as th' voice of a lover, 

I'll hear th' song o' th' say. 



THANKSGIVING. 

Thank God for the Trees and the Flowers 

And the Blue, Blue Sky, 
Thank God for the Happy Hours 

And Hope that can never die. 
Thank God, though the Way be long 

For Joy when the Journey ends, 
Thank God for the Gift of Song, 

And, O ! Thank God for my Friends, 



EMER AT THE GEAVE OF 
CUCHULAIN. 

" Love of my life,"' she said. 
As she went down into the new-made grave, 
And laid her mouth close to his cold mouth, 
And never did sweeter blossoms swing 

together 
In the honey-sweet and breath-warm 

breezes of the south. 

" My friend, my sweetheart,'' she said, 
And the beauty of her warmed the cold, 

dead clay, 
And her voice's music filled Death's lonely 

house, 
And her white arms, like swans through 

sunny waters 
Tossed her hair's golden spray above his 

breast, and o'er his death-dark 

brows. 

62 



EMER AT THE GRAVE OF CUCHULAIN 63 

" My one choice of Erinn's men," she said, 
As she laid her length along that narrow 

place, 
With bitter crying and with many a moan, 
And, 'twas what she said, twining his dead 

arms around her, 
" Since you are gone from me, there is no 

word better with me than, ochon!" 



SPRING IN THE CITY. 

" There's a breath of Spring in the air 

to-day" 
Called out my neighbour across the way, 
And the words with their gladdening 

message wound 
Through the city's hollow with joyous 
sound. 

Down the echoing street 
Came flying feet, 
And daffodils leaned from a window sill, 
Where the merry children laughed loud 
and shrill, 

Youth and Joy, 
A girl and a boy, 
With a hoop and a ball 
And a whoop and a call 
64 



SPRING IN THE CITY 65- 

To the sunbeams and breeze, all friends- 
together 
Went dancing into the wine-like ether, 
And my heart, atune, sang adown the way 
To the Yellowbill's note on the topmost 

spray. 
And my soul seemed aglow at the greeting^ 

gay, 

" There's a breath of Spring in the air 
to-day." 



D338) 



EIRE'S AWAKENING. 

Saw you the Wraith-light flicker and fail, 
Men of the Glens, through the blinding 
sleet? 

Saw you a cloud o'er the grey sky sail, 
And wrap the day in its winding sheet ? 

Heard you the roar of the tempest's breath. 
Lashing the waves in its passionate 
scorning ? 

Eelt you the stillness as deep as Death? 

'Twas but the Hour of our Eire's mourning. 

Heard you the woe of the Caoiner's tale. 
Men of the Glens, in your eerie shieling ? 

Heard you the sound of the Banshee's wail. 
You of the Hills, o'er the upland steal- 



ing? 



66 



Eire's awakening 67 

Saw you the wan light grey and cold 
Break in the East, at the Day Star's 
peeping ? 
Saw you his glory of crimson and gold ? 
'Twas but the Hour of our Eire's sleep- 
ing. 

Heard you a song by a Siren sung, 

Men of the Glens, through the woodland 
ringing, 
In the liquid tones of the Gaelic tongue, 
Sweet as the sunlit streamlet's singing? 
See you a myriad, stern-brow'd men. 
The very earth 'neath their grand tread 
shaking ? 
Seeking the Singer through brake and fen, 
This, this is the Hour of our Eire's 
waking. 



THE QUICKENBERRIES OF 
DOOROS. 

The Quickenberries of Dooros 

Hang heavy-clustered, dull red as drops 
of blood, 
Crimson amongst green branches, 
scarlet against the sky, 
And who shall taste of their magic shall 
know all evil and good 
Him shall no power destroy, nor 
sorrow nor scaith come nigh. 

I walk through low, grey meadows, and 
ever a kind one stoops 
To lead me to higher pastures, sun- 
lighted, shadow-forgot, 
Where the pines trail feathery robes and 
the heavy fruitage droops. 
Where the olden silence is flowing and 
the waves of time beat not. 
68 



THE QUICKENBERRIES OF DOOROS 69 

I have known the laughter of Love and 
have seen the folly of Hate 
Clear as the stars that travel the dome 
of God's floor o'erhead, 
I laugh at the little v^ays of Men, the 
pigmy antics of Fate, 
For I dream old dreams of delight and 
live in days that are dead. 

The Quickenberries of Dooros 

Hang heavy-clustered, dull red as drops 
of blood, 
Crimson amongst green lances, scarlet 
'mid bronze and gold. 
And who shall taste of their magic shall 
know all evil and good; 
Him shall no fret disturb, he shall 
laugh when the world is old. 



THE PRIMAL SILENCE. 

(a fragment.) 

When Satan laughed behind the apple-tree 
In Eden was heard no more of Melody, 
A midnight silence fell across the noon, 
From grove and glade rang out no sweet 

bird-tune. 
Deep in the flowering grasses brute by 

brute, 
Lay still as death, the singing streams were 

mute. 
And where the reeds and brook- fed rushes 

swayed, 
The minstral breeze no wonder-music made. 
The soaring lark, poising on tremulous 

wing, 
Dropped from the sky, a songless, silent 

thing, 

70 



THE PRIMAL SILENCE 71 

And where a melody of waters played, 
Silence a finger on their glad lips laid, 
And when thro' the great hush that 

laughter jarred 
Man blushed for shame of that hour evil 

starred. 
And hid himself in silence, sore afraid, 
Dreading to hear the Voice of Him who 

made 
The glad days of the World, and every leaf 
That covered him to hide his fear and 

grief. 
And every beast and bird and blade of 

grass 
Each living thing that in the Garden was 
Each tree and flower and stem and seeding 

pod 
Listened to hear the awful Voice of God, 
Then where an Angel stood with fiery 

sword 
Bearing aloft the Mandate of the Lord, 



72 THE PRIMAL SILENCE 

Two crouching figures passed, and the red 

sun 
Sank on that Day of Doom into oblivion, 
And God hung out a branch of silent stars 
Beyond that Portal's menace of Red Bars, 
Where, to the awful vastness of dim, silent 

spaces. 
The Wanderers turned their sorrow- 
stricken faces. 



DAFFODILS. 

Cavaliers out of the Age of Gold 
Why come ye trooping, a myriad fold? 
Gaily riding adown the years 
With golden helmets and grey-green 
spears. 

Wherefore, O Gallants, brave and bold, 
Ride ye out of the Age of Gold 
Into a world so cold and grey? 
Way, for the Golden Men, make way! 

Speed ye forth at some King's behest. 
Or some high, noble and knightly quest? 
To succour and save in this forest shady 
Some high-born captive lady. 

We come at the call of our Ladye, Spring. 
Largess of gold for grace we bring, 
To her Court we ride over mead and wold, 
Heralding in the Age of Gold. 



ASTHOREEN. 

Oh, the hills are fair in Erin, green and 
gold each towering crest, 
And the laughing streamlet flashes 
through the heather in its glee. 
And the nursling of the waters on its ocean 
mother's breast 
Is cradled to the music of the sunbright 
sea; 
And I look across the valley where the 
reaper 'mid the grain 
To the swinging of his sickle sings a 
careless, happy tune. 
And I wonder if in Erin we shall ever meet 
again 
When the throstle's note is heard among 
the glancing green of June. 
Asthoreen ! Asthoreen ! 
74 



ASTHOREEN 75 

Heed you not my sad heart's pleading? 
It goes out across the green sea that for- 
ever lies between, 
And the burthen of its message that the 
breezes bear unheeding : 
Shall we meet again in Erin when the 
hills are fair and green ? 

Oh, the hills are green in Erin, and the 
fragrant breezes blow 
Through the tangled briar and bracken 
where the fairies vigil keep : 
Gleam the ruddy quickenberries 'gainst the 
azure sky aglow 
Sweet as blushes red and radiant on the 
cheek of child asleep. 
And my heart is filled with gladness, and 
the earth with joy is teeming, 
And my eager eyes look out beyond the 
green sea's crystal sheen; 
For the sigh of breeze and song of bird and 
sunlight softly streaming 



76 ASTHOREEN 

All say we'll meet in Erin when the hills 
are fair and green. 

Asthoreen ! Asthoreen ! 
Heed you not my glad heart's swelling? 
It goes out across the green sea that for- 
ever lies between, 
And the burthen of its message to the 
breezes I am telling : 
We shall meet again in Erin when the 
hills are fair and green. 



THE WOE OF ALL THE WORLD. 

There is no beauty in the world — Deirdre 
being dead — 

And Ferdiad's white limbs hid in the red- 
dening stream. 

The birds of Angus only know Moy Mell, 

And earth's old ways are desolate, now men 
save 

And hoard the joy and laughter of their 
lives 

To lavish tears alone on what they love. 

Oh, I have sat with friends throughout fair 
hours 

And laughed and sang and watched their 
faces glow 

Like happy children round a ruddy fire. 
77 



78 THE WOE OF ALL THE WORLD 

And I have seen those faces pale and set 
When a sad viol through the silence sobbed, 
And looked, to see men's souls laid stark 

and bare 
In their own sight, to their great wonder- 
ment 
When the sweet music trembled and died 

out. 
And I have seen the crimson wave of dawn 
Cast up the beautiful, white corse of day 
Before a careless crowd, and while the 

laugh 
And song alternate flowed from wine wet 

lips, 
Have seen the tears for youth's lost 

fragrant grace 
Slow coursing down the fair cheek of a 

friend. 



NOTES 

How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot, 
Diarmuid ever after wore a cap to conceal his 
love-spot, but, once in endeavouring to separate 
the hounds that were quarrelling over the remnants 
of a feast at Tara, his cap fell off, whereupon 
Grainne saw the mark and gave him her love. She 
persuaded him to fly with her from Tara, and it 
was while defending her from a wild boar on the 
mountain of Ben Bulban that he received his death 
wound. 

Grainne. After the Death of Diarmuid. 
Grainne, the daughter of King Cormac, was 
betrothed to Fionn Mac Cumhal, but falling in 
love with Diarmuid O'Duibhne, a Captain of the 
Fianna, persuaded him to elope with her. The 
*' Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne" by the 
vengeful Fionn forms the subject of one of the 
Bardic tales of Erinn. Diarmuid was killed by 
a wild boar in the Woods of Ben Bulban. 

When Seumas Mac-an-Ree played The Coulin." 
Jimmy Mac Ilroy, a traditional fiddler of 
Cushendall, Co. Antrim. 

The Boy's Mother Speaks. 
When Meave sent out the Druids and the 
Satirists to bring Ferdiad to fight against his 
friend and companion, Cuchulain, she told them 

79 



80 NOTES 

if he would not come to raise the three blisters of 
disgrace on his face, Shame and Blemish and 
Reproach, so that if he did not die on the moment, 
he would be dead at the end of nine days. 

My Share o' the World. 
The Sluah Shee is the Fairy Host. 

A Donegal Hush Song. 
Moy Mell is the Honey-sweet Plain of Fairy- 
land. 

Einer at the Grave of Cuchulain. 
Emer was the beautiful and devoted wife of 
Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster. 

The Quickenberries of Dooros. 
It was to the Forest of Dooros Diarmuid and 
Grainne fled for refuge when pursued by Fionn, 
following their flight from Tara. Thither, too, 
the incensed Leader of the Fianna and his followers 
penetrated, and nearly every incident, tragic or 
romantic which ensued, is associated with the 
quickenberries, or berries of the rowan-tree, which 
in Druidic times bore a mystic significance. 

The Woe of all the World. 
The kisses of Angus, the Irish god of Youth and 
Love, turned to white birds which circled about his 
head. Angus Og, son of the Dagda, was the Irish 
Hermes, and master of many arts. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proces 
Neutralizing agent; Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: July 2009 

PreservationTechnologie 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATK 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



